


Walk the Line

by Bibliotecaria_D



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/pseuds/Bibliotecaria_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship is more than just sex scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk the Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vintage-Mechanics](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Vintage-Mechanics).



**Title:** Walk the Line  
 **Warning:** This aren’t sexy BDSM scenes. They’re realistic ones.  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Continuity:** G1  
 **Characters:** Blast Off, Ravage, (Megatron)  
 **Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.  
 **Motivation (Prompt):** Vintage-Mechanics held a Valentine’s Day good BDSM spree.

**[* * * * *]**

_”First Date”_

**[* * * * *]**

He didn’t intend to be rude. Where he was from, rudeness came out in the silkiest of mild tones, thought out long before they were said aloud. Insults were to be delivered now but realized later. Using blunt words to offend was crass.

It was only that, well, “You’re smaller than your picture.” Heat shields clamped down on his arms as he winced at his own words. “I…didn’t mean that how it came out.”

“An accusation?” The tiny Cassette looked up at him. It was a long way to look up. Even perched on the café chair, he barely topped Blast Off’s thigh.

‘Topped’ being the exact opposite of why the fetish site had matched the Cassette to him. Blast Off swallowed and repressed the unseemly urge to fidget. He’d been nervous already about exploring his inclination toward powerplay interfacing, but chatting on the site had seemed harmless. Chatting with an experienced bottom had turned an inclination into a keen interest. The more they'd talked, the more the need to _do_ some of what they were talking about had built up in his head.

His hardware, too. That had become a steady mounting pressure driving him to meet soon, meet _now_ , do all the things and then some. He'd made a list. Items just seemed to appear on it. He hadn't wanted to try everything at once, but by the time they'd agreed to meet, he'd been unable to narrow down what he wanted to do first.

Now, what had seemed like a good chance to explore the experience had nosedived into flat-out kinky as a wire tangle. There was mild dabbling, and then there was meeting up face-to-face with Ravage_My_Reels from FetFacing.com. Ravage the teeny-tiny Cassette, as it'd turned out. Blast Off wasn’t sure he was ready for this.

“You didn’t request height stats,” Ravage said. His audio receptors laid back slightly. “Do you have a problem with smaller partners?”

Bad connotations lined up to pop into Blast Off's mind. Every larger frametype had heard stories about playing around with a smaller partner, and ouch. When a shuttle mech fragged a tiny ‘bot, problems could be anything from misplacing his partner somewhere in his interior, to _crunch_.

“Ahm.” Blast Off reset his vocalizer to buy a moment. _Crunch_ was not a desireable outcome.

He decided that frank honesty was the best policy. Ravage_My_Reels had a purring turn of phrase online over chat, but they had both been very upfront about why they wanted to meet. They’d met at this download café because there were rental rooms within walking distance, after all, and Blast Off had brought the list. Ravage had promised they'd whittle down the possibilities beforehand. 

The shuttle felt a touch embarrassed about being upfront about how, “I don’t have the experience to know. I was hoping you would be able to, as it were, guide me. A bit.” 

Ravage narrowed his optics up at the shuttle. “So you said, and I agreed.” His head cocked to the side, audios pricking up. Amused curiosity suddenly radiated off him. “I see. You don’t think someone my size can direct someone like you. Is that it?”

Oh, scrap, not sizism. He wasn’t sizist! “No, no, I just -- you’re really not even in my frame class, and I’m not **sure** , but I think I like to be a little rough with my partners, and that just doesn’t seem like a good idea when you’re -- and I’m -- “ Hands-on experimenting without knowing what he was doing with such a teensy, fragile frametype sounded like a recipe for disaster.

“I’m more resilient than I look.” The Cassette stood and stretched, forefeet curling over the front of the chair and hindquarters in the air. “I can always say ‘stop,’ you know. We talked about safewords.”

“Well…yes.” But. But he hadn’t known Ravage_My_Reels was a _Cassette_. He wasn’t sizist, but Blast Off was legitimately scared he’d accidentally crush the little mech. “This is just unexpected.”

“Heh. To be fair,” Ravage said, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so tall.”

Shuttle and Cassette looked at each other across the table. 

“So now what?”

**[* * * * *]**

_”Drop”_

**[* * * * *]**

“Rewind!”

Blast Off stopped cold, other hand yanked over as if by the power of the safeword. He cradled Ravage in both hands and looked down at him through a wide, alarmed visor. “What did I do? Are you alright? Just a klik, hold it, I’ll get this off in a -- there.” The leash whipped off in record time, and his fans rattled in relief. The quick-release knots gave just as they were supposed to. He'd been worried that wouldn't be the case in an emergency. Sometimes his big fingers couldn’t grasp the slippery rope on the first try, and it was _important_ that it come off in only a few seconds.

"Are you hurt? Was it a pinched fuel line?" He peered closer as if he could see the problem, but everything looked fine. Had he missed something?

“No, no, it’s okay.” Ravage’s tape squeaked inside him, however. The rush of fuel pounding through him from sheer reaction couldn’t be denied.

The shuttle could feel the tremble of his reels. “Do you want me to put you down?” They were still strangers enough that seeing his fear made him uneasy. Blast Off's first instinct was to back away, but Ravage had taught him basic rules of play. They'd reached agreement on their own version before starting, and taking responsibility for his bottom's care was part and parcel of even starting a scene. It wasn’t every top’s role, but it was what Ravage wanted from him. He couldn’t just drop the shaking Cassette on the bed and back away to let him recover on his own.

He didn't know what to do. Frag. They should have talked about this _before_ it happened, but, well, he hadn't thought about it. 

“Don’t put me down,” Ravage murmured. “Just…give me a few kliks. We’ve got to talk. Not bad, not a bad thing,” he assured the mech holding him when Blast Off tensed in apprehension. “You didn’t do anything wrong, really. I forgot to warn you about the one-handed thing.”

Blast Off hesitated, then drew the Cassette closer, folding partially around him. He didn't know what to do, but if Ravage could tell him what he needed, that worked.

The little black-and-gray mech relaxed. “That’s nice. That’s good.”

Okay. He could do this. “Take as long as you need.”

Ravage lit one optic. “I’ll be fine. We can keep going in a while. Safeword’s not the end of the world.”

He wasn’t so certain. Having it used on him had rattled him badly, and Blast Off wasn’t sure he could keep playing after this. He just wasn’t in the right mindset anymore.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Claw”_

**[* * * * *]**

“You want me to what?”

“Clip my claws.” Ravage rested his chin on his front paws and squinted his optics in amusement at Blast Off’s disturbed expression. Mask and visor couldn't hide body language from his optics. His newbie top had no idea what to think of this request. “Don’t worry. They’re self-sharpening. The sheathes will file them down into points again as my repair systems replace the metal.”

“Then why do it?” Blast Off sat down at the table, keeping the distance between them. This was the time for talking. Touching would only get in the way of setting things up. 

Oh, there were a dozen reasons why. Ravage flexed his paws and picked the ones Blast Off needed to know. “Because I want you to hold me down and force me to extend them, and then clip them off.” Yes indeed, he wanted that. 

“Will that hurt you?”

“A bit.”

“Are you sure -- is that what you want?”

Ravage paused. Physically, he knew he wanted the act. It was more difficult to articulate what he wanted from Blast Off declawing him. 

“I know it sounds good,” he said after a klik of thought. “I don’t think it will hurt a lot, but I want it to hurt a bit. I like some pain. I think it will feel like when you pinch my audio receptors.” Blast Off blinked at him before bobbing a thoughtful nod. “Not a lot of pain, but some. I’ve got to be in the right mood for it, though.”

“What kind of set-up do you need?”

“Mrrrr.” The Cassette rolled, paws in the air. He looked up at them and flexed his claws in and out. He wanted the twinge of pain, the hard click of the clippers jolting up his legs, and he wanted to be forced into compliance. Now it was a question of how he wanted that to happen. The vague picture of the scene he held in his mind came into focus slowly. “Squish my head into the floor with your hand and…do that looming thing you do.” 

A huff of laughter came from the larger mech, although Blast Off’s visor didn’t change expression. “It’s not looming. It’s me being fifty times your mass.”

“That, too.” It was actually the way Blast Off had to crouch over him to restrain him, holding him down and surrounding him with the thrum of active systems. Everything under the shuttle’s body vibrated with excitement and smelled of interfacing. It was sexy as the Pit, and Blast Off’s fans would get ragged the more Ravage struggled to escape. One hand was enough to pin the Cassette down. He was big and strong, genteel and proud without being arrogant in his power when it came to dominating the tiny mech.

“Do you want me to go directly to it, or threaten you?”

Ravage stretched, spinal struts arching luxuriously. “Make it last.”

**[* * * * *]**

_”Structure”_

**[* * * * *]**

Blast Off disconnected them slowly, fingers lingering on the connector rims. He pet the cables, taking his time. The data flow gradually died down, petering off into random digits pinging back and forth. The energy leveled off into a fluid backdrop of someone else’s body. It was a strangely liquid backdrop rushing through their minds as overload ebbed away.

Ravage hummed with excess charge, jaw slack. The inevitable overflow of being hooked up to a higher-output frametype during overload was enough to bliss him out. Coming down from that took longer than equalizing through their cables, and Blast Off took his time disconnecting in order to let the energy pulse in languid surges, reabsorbing into him. 

Ravage’s optics flickered as the charge ebbed. The extended afterglow was a nice side-effect of playing with a larger frametype. The disconnected feeling came from the lack of control, however. That had nothing to do with their relative size. As long as the restraints held him helpless, the Cassette floated in a sense of freedom. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. He could do nothing but take what he was given, and endure what was done to him. Resistance melted away under Blast Off’s harsh hands, and defiance exhausted itself against the ropes. 

He had struggled inside the cats-cradle of knots, kicking and thrashing, but he’d gone nowhere. Then had come the shuttle’s touch, forcing open his interface hatches and fingering each and every port underneath until Ravage gasped, vents straining to open under the restraints. He'd had no choice but to surrender to what was forced on him, and it had been exactly what he wanted.

The petting now soothed him. It wasn’t the ruthless, selfish handling of before when Blast Off greedily filled his palms with black-and-grey plating despite Ravage’s yowled protests. Those hands gentled him, now. A thumb rubbed under the tightest of the ropes, testing if he was ready to be untied. 

Ravage sighed and relaxed into the restraints. Blast Off smoothed his hatches shut but let him savor recent memory just a little longer.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Ceiling”_

**[* * * * *]**

*Calm down,* Ravage said over their short-wave frequency. *You look fine.*

He looked like a Rust Sea bumpkin tourist thrust into an inner city club, and Blast Off was painfully aware of it. He stood out, at least to his own mind. He tried to iron the nerves from his voice. *Everyone’s looking at us.*

*Of course they’re looking at us. I’m hot. You’re hot. We’re lit fuel walking, we’re so hot.* The tiny Cassette preened. Attention was the obvious result of such hotness descending on a club like this. He was totally fine with that. He liked attention.

Blast Off wanted to think everyone was staring because Ravage was on a leash, but a Cassette strolling along the floor was hardly the most risqué thing happening here tonight. He had already walked past somebody in their vehicle mode up on a mechanic’s lift stand, engine and axles exposed to anyone's mercy, and the Seeker tethered face-first to the wall by his wrists was being stroked by everyone nearby. The breathy little cries were audible above the music, and they were growing louder the more hands found the clearly-labeled hotspots down the line of his back. If that kept up, the whole club would hear the scream when the mech finally toppled into overload.

Blast Off had stop counting how many cuffs, collars, and gags accessorized the dancers currently on the floor. The stage show was educational, to say the least, and the couches writhed in the shadows. 

So, no. A Cassette on a leash wasn't special. 

Into this den of debauchery and exhibitionism came Blast Off, who lingered in the entrance trying to look bored. Otherwise he’d gape like the inexperienced glitch he really was. He’d always wanted to go to one of these clubs, but he’d have talked himself out of it at the door if not for the Cassette sitting smugly at his feet. Ravage said he’d gone here before. He said it’d be fun. 

The Seeker sobbed for cool air, pleading for release. 

Blast Off's hand clenched on the leash. People were looking at them.

*You look like your filters are backed up,* Ravage said without looking up.

Blast Off deflated. He’d been aiming for dignified. Aloof or even contemptuous of the music would be preferable to looking like he had no idea what to do. *What do we do now?*

*What do you want to do?*

Leave. Go rent a room. Play around with just the two of them instead of exposing themselves to the mockery of people who actually knew how to do a scene in public. The shuttle feared looking like a buffoon the minute he tried to assert his authority over his bottom, even with Ravage playing along. 

He'd said he'd try. Blastt Off glanced a tad desperately around the club and ruled out one activity right away. *I don’t dance.*

*Okay. Let’s go sit down, then.* Ravage got up and stropped himself along Blast Off’s shin. *You'll be more comfortable once you see how things work.*

Sitting down would definitely make it less obvious that he was staring at everything. Except, well, *The couches look…occupied.*

*They’ll make room. Don’t worry. Watching is perfectly acceptable.* Self-satisfied red optics peered up at him. *Or you can drag me over to the bar and make me drink out of a bowl while you sit at the bar. I see an open spot over there.*

That didn’t sound like a bad plan. *I can do that.* 

The club cleared a path for the hulking top pulling his tiny bottom across the room. Ravage clawed the floor and drank in the attention. Behind them, the Seeker screamed.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Toy Shopping”_

**[* * * * *]**

Ravage wasn’t the type to snort giggles behind his paw, or even roar with laughter. He simply sat there, face wiped of all expression. His audio receptors twitched in bitty spasms, however.

Blast Off sank down on the couch and put his hand over his visor. “…it was the smallest size available. They **said** it would fit.”

A paw delicately toyed in the loose puddle of strapping that had slid right off the Cassette’s shoulders. “I’m sure they’d have said anything to get a sale.” 

Unsaid was the assumption that Blast Off’s extreme shyness in actually talking about tying his playmate up had contributed to this. The salesmech must have seen a sucker coming a mile off. _Of course_ the harness would fit a tiny frametype! Not that Blast Off would actually open the package in the store to check sizes, which made selling him a far-too-large harness a breeze.

The Cassette rose to all four feet and shook off the rest of the straps. “I appreciate that you tried to get me a gift.” There. That was tactful. The suppressed mirth in his voice was a figment of the imagination.

One that Blast Off picked up on even while wallowing in humiliated shame. “Careful on the attitude,” he said, looking out from between his fingers. “My hands are still itching to tie you up.”

Was that a threat? That was a threat. Ravage felt threatened. “Do tell,” he purred, optics slitting. Interest met interest in optic contact, and Ravage flexed his claws in invitation even as he kept up the backtalk. “Can you even see me down here? I can send my measurements to your inbox if it would help.”

The massive shuttle stood up. “I’ll just have to improvise.”

He backed Ravage into the corner step by step, stooping to pick the outsized harness up off the floor as he went. They’d get some use out of this thing yet.

Like fun was he going to return it, after all.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Outsider Friends”_

**[* * * * *]**

This was okay. This was fine. This was, dare he even think it, good.

Blast Off leaned back in his chair and nailed the façade of relaxed superiority over the pit of insecurities bubbling in his tanks. No, he was okay. Everything was fine. People were staring, but he was far, far above them. So far above their level that he didn’t have a care in the stars for their lowly opinions. They could think whatever they wanted. Right? Right.

Anyway, he’d never see these people again after today. Even if they saw him again, who would remember one shuttle mech among a thousand of his frametype? He’d chosen this port because it was a busy location that his company didn't contract with. He'd land here once a year, if that, and those were typically pick-up dockings, here and gone again for one cargo drop.

Fortunate for him, as he’d probably combust if anyone he knew saw him sitting here. It was bad enough that he was actually sitting in one of these pretentious, over-priced port waiting lounges for people who felt they were above sitting with other passengers, but he had another mech on a leash.

“I like it when people see me this way,” Ravage had said.

“The club’s not enough, Ravage had said.

“Let’s go out somewhere,” Ravage had said.

“Primus spare my spark,” Blast Off had said.

Variations of that conversation had spun out from there, but it all came down to the Cassette's craving for attention. He wanted to be leashed and ordered about in public. Blast Off had been out in public with his bottom before in a non-play setting, and nobody looked twice at a tiny technimal frametype. Nobody acknowledged him, and everyone dismissed him if they noticed him in the first place. Small frametypes were unimportant and ignored. It was how the world went by.

Put a bitty-'bot on a leash, however, and suddenly everyone stared. _Everyone_ saw Ravage right now. The Cassette sulked on the end of his leash, growling occassionally when Blast Off tugged him out from under the table, and the terminal concourse was a traffic jam as people gawked.

For all that they stared, _everyone_ was exquisitely aware that society demanded they stop gawping. Dropping everything to stare was bad manners. Shame on the starers. People walking by in the concourse stared so hard they tripped over their own feet, but they were utterly humiliated by Ravage's knowing look. They got up and pretended it’d been nothing but uneven flooring or a moment of clumsiness. Staring at the Cassette on a leash? Never. 

The covert looks burnt Blast Off under his plating, but they were also strangely funny. Ravage gloried in making everyone aware of him. Like the felinoid he resembled, he enjoyed toying with people. Turning them on their heads amused him. From ignoring him and having society’s blessing on that dismissal, to being unable to look at him but wanting to _so bad._ Heh.

The shuttle could sort of understand how the gaping, scandalized flood of attention could be a thrill. He just wasn’t very comfortable receiving his portion of it. Ravage had really, really wanted to go out in public, but the shuttle had dithered.

Then Ravage had done the thing with Blast Off’s feet, and, um, wow. For that, Blast Off would pretend he didn’t care that everyone was fritzing around him. 

It wasn’t so bad. It was fine. He was doing okay. As long as nobody he knew showed up, he thought he could handle this.

*Rewind,* Ravage hissed through short-wave. *Rewind. Rewind!*

Using the safeword startled Blast Off to begin with, but the sheer urgency nearly knocked him off the chair. *Wha -- okay?!* He bent over to fumble with the tiny mech’s collar.

* **Rewind!** *

*I got it, I got it, I -- okay, there!* He sat back hurriedly, lifting the collar and leash away from Ravage like the things would scorch his playmate. He was painfully aware of everyone looking at them. *It’s off! What’s wrong? Did I do something? Are you okay?* 

Ravage ignored his worried questions. The Cassette was too busy jumping up onto the chair next to him and flipping his tail around to cover his front paws and the cuffs around them. *Act normal!*

*Normal?* What did that even _mean_ in this context? Blast Off swept the concourse with a look, searching for anything wrong.

*It’s -- * The Cassette shifted, audio receptors laying back for a moment. *Ferry shuttle, Dock 17. No, to the left. It’s my compartment.*

Blast Off blinked. Ravage’s…compartment? As in, docking compartment? 

Oh. Oh no.

Two Cassettes winged down the concourse and made a beeline for them, beady bird optics lighting up. 

Blast Off's visor paled. *Did they see?*

*Shhh!*

“Did we see what?” one of the winged Cassettes asked as he came in for a landing. “Should we have seen something? What were we supposed to see, Ravage? And who’s this?”

Blast Off surreptitiously stuffed the leash and collar out of sight. This was not good. This was not okay. Everything was the opposite of fine.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Top Down”_

**[* * * * *]**

Ravage had taken that thing with the feet and gone above and beyond the original request. His top had all but collapsed when he’d followed through the first time; Ravage intended the mech to be a satisfied puddle of happy dom after he was done with him. Whichever of them was he or him, hmm?

Blast Off sat in poised, smug waiting above him, an imperious presence forcing the Cassette to do his bidding through patient, silent pressure. Ravage’s tape crackled inside him, knotting around the reels, and he swallowed against the glowing embarrassment lighting him up from the spark out. He’d agreed to do this. He’d _proposed_ the additions. Awareness of what he was doing still squirmed through his internal parts. There was a vast difference between setting up a scene and actually playing it out.

Over the embarrassment pulled the deep, throbbing knowledge that the much larger, much more powerful mech sitting over him was forcing him to do things. He was being made to do this. He had no choice. Blast Off was going to make him do this, and he'd be forced to enjoy it. Ravage could fight as much as he wanted, pacing and growling at the end of the leash, but Blast Off would out-wait him in the end. 

Ravage wasn’t responsible for his own behavior during the act itself, nor right now. He’d been pinned down despite his struggles, the collar ruthlessly buckled around his neck. Now Blast Off was making him degrade himself in a slavish act of --

“Airlock.”

Ravage looked up and blinked. The aloof, sneering look had vanished into a disturbed and helpless expression hidden behind a hand. He dropped character right away. “Too much?”

“Oh, Primus. I can’t take it.” Blast Off inhaled and shuddered. 

Second-hand embarrassment would murder his top yet. Ravage sat on the floor and waiting for Blast Off to recover his dignity.

“Give me a klik,” the shuttle muttered thickly.

“No pressure.” But Ravage wouldn’t be Ravage if he didn’t strop along Blast Off’s feet in temptation.

The shuttle shuddered again, for an entirely different reason.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Top Down”_

**[* * * * *]**

Ravage gave the trio across the dance floor a critical look. The hand on his head had paused kliks ago, a forceful rubbing meant to keep him in place as much as it had been petting him. It'd stopped when Blast Off’s attention had faltered. Ravage was no longer the center of his attention, and that aggravated him. The point of playing in public was the amount of attention it garnered the Cassette, and here his top didn’t even notice when he nipped the lax fingers lying on him.

The trio on the couch across from them had Blast Off’s full attention, to the point where Ravage couldn’t feel the shuttle ventilating. The mech’s fans were completely shut off, as if to prevent even those small motions from distracting him. His visor and mask were as impassive as they ever were during a public session, especially here at the club, but it was the tiny hints of body language that betrayed Blast Off’s fascination. No fans, but his pump rate had picked up, and his heat shields were clamped close over rapidly heating systems. He’d crossed and uncrossed his legs four times during the last song.

For the Cassette in his lap, that made quite a bumpy ride. 

Ravage squinted across the dance floor. *I hope you’re not going to suggest we do that. The point of living furniture is that they’re ignored. I’m not into being ignored in any way.* A hint of a dig there, because he was being ignored right here and now. Sure, living furniture was valued, collected, displayed, and used as the living treasures their keepers felt them to be, but being an art piece wasn’t the same as being showered in attention as a pet. Ravage didn’t connect that way.

*No,* Blast Off said. His voice tried for dismissive but held a breathy quality. *I know that.* He suddenly turned his attention back to the Cassette in his lap, furiously petting Ravage in hard, rough strokes.

Ravage yowled and dug his claws into a broad thigh, only half in play. *You certainly saw **something** you like!*

*Maybe, but -- * The shuttle stopped himself from continuing. Instead, he picked up the Cassette and shook his claws loose before squishing Ravage into the couch for more forced petting. Ravage growled under his hand but didn’t really fight it. *Is it a common play, here? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.*

*Not really common. Being ignored is a punishment for most the bottoms I know.* His reels made a grating noise inside him. Blast Off rubbed his audio receptors without acknowledging the disgruntled noise. Ravage shuddered as pleasure rippled down his neck from the massage. *There are…oh. Collectors and keepers for that…kind of...prrrrrrrrr.*

Being pinned down and forced into pleasure felt wonderful, but he also felt his top’s distraction for the rest of the night. The trio on the other couch had Blast Off’s interest, and no matter how casual the questions slipped into their normal talk, Ravage could tell the shuttle was feeling out the idea of living furniture. The way the questions went, it wasn’t about becoming a keeper, either.

Huh. He hadn’t pegged Blast Off as a switch.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Step out of the role”_

**[* * * * *]**

“Rewind.”

Blast Off unclipped the leash and stepped back, mildly alarmed, but audio receptors rattled in their setting as Ravage gave an irritable shake of his head. Irritated, not upset. "What's wrong?"

“I’m going to murder him,” the Cassette muttered just loud enough to share his annoyance. “Where’s your com-console?”

They’d long since started playing at Blast Off’s place, since he was rarely there unless he was on-planet. It made for a safe space, and the assumption that of course they wouldn’t be interfacing wherever Ravage’s compartment lived had done a lot to smooth them through tentative playdates and into a regular schedule. Blast Off knew carrier mechs. Everyone in a dock already lived in each other’s business. Add in the compartment’s carrier, and things got very crowded, very fast. 

However, Blast Off was a private mech. He’d been as alarmed meeting two of Ravage’s compartment as the Cassette had been almost getting caught playing by them. He didn’t particularly want Ravage making calls from his com-console. He didn’t want an electronic trail linking outsiders to his life.

Ravage had his fangs bared. Blast Off wasn't about to get between the Cassette and whomever had gritted his grease up. He shifted to point at the wall. “Behind the paneling. Whom do you need to call?”

“I’m not calling anyone,” Ravage snapped out. He jumped off the table and stalked over to key the panel open, revealing the com-console. “You’re about to **get** a call. My carrier, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that I’m too submissive to stand up for myself. He feels the need to threaten you into good behavior.” One side of Blast Off’s visor twitched. What kind of disconnect from reality did Ravage’s carrier have? The Cassette was a silent predator _except_ inside a scene, and he’d never hesitated to yank his top up by the cockpit if necessary. “Exactly. Stay there. I’ll handle this.”

Blast Off prudently nudged a chair toward the Cassette and cleared off out of video range. The audio-blistering lecture started the moment the console pinged the call through. Blast Off sat on the couch and twiddled his thumbs. His bottom could handle himself.

**[* * * * *]**

_”The Missing Step”_

**[* * * * *]**

“Not that one.” A paw on Blast Off’s thigh stopped him before he rose. “He’s not a good top.”

The shuttle looked down at Ravage, then at the keeper he’d been eyeing. The small, bright grounder looked like a good candidate. He’d been watching the mech move about, and having a couple pieces of living furniture on his string seemed a good enough recommendation. Still, Blast Off trusted his bottom. 

“Why not? He’s the only one I’ve seen looking for new pieces to collect.” He didn’t know how to approach another top asking to be taken care of as a bottom in a really specific kink. Part of Swindle’s appeal came from how he approached other people: open, easy, smoothly feeling out kinks and fetishes, and exiting the conversations with a sleek social grace Blast Off never had.

Ravage curled up, putting his chin on his paws so he could watch Swindle schmooze. “Swindle’s…got a rep. He’s more a dealer than a keeper, and he’s known for manipulating inexperienced submissives into doing what he wants instead of what they need. He trains like that, and sometimes when he trades off his pieces, their new keepers find out their furniture’s damaged in some way. Never physical,” he assured Blast Off as if the shuttle had flinched at the idea. “I don’t think he actually hurts anyone, but…” Large, glowing optics turned back toward the grounder. “It doesn’t have to be physical to damage people playing these games.”

Blast Off leaned back on the couch and pondered that. No, it didn’t have to be physical to hurt, not when the games were power and pleasure.

“If he’s done that, why is he still here?” The shuttle tilted his head to the side and studied the furniture at Swindle’s side again. They looked fine to him, but he didn’t know what he was looking for. They did look new. He and Ravage had been coming to this club for a while, and now that he thought about it, he’d rarely seen the grounder with the same bottoms for very long. When he glanced at the rest of the crowd, he couldn’t pick out anyone he’d seen bottom for Swindle before. 

“I’d ban him,” Ravage said frankly, “but he helps the bar owner get a discount on drink supplies. I’d get run out by him and his friends if I said anything. Besides, I don’t want to start anything. We’ve got a good club going, here, and it’d divide us if I said something. If anyone else supported me, that is. I doubt they would. They don’t want to cause trouble. So I just warn newbies when they look his way. Sometimes they listen. Sometimes,” he nodded toward the grounder’s current collection, “they don’t.”

“That doesn’t seem safe.” 

“Probably not, but what can we do? It’s not our business.”

Blast Off blinked. It almost had been.

He looked away, searching for another candidate.

**[* * * * *]**

_”A Strong Experience”_

**[* * * * *]**

A murmurred drone rose and fell. It went in one audio and out the other, temporary files written and deleted before they registered.

The soothing background sound eventually resolved to a voice talking to him. Blast Off drifted without care for whether or not the words meant anything. Perhaps someone gently repeating his name over and over again would irritate him on another day, but right now it went right over his head. 

He’d been submerged in the orders given to him, and it was a long way to the surface. 

Polishing had taken quite a while. The repetitiveness had lulled him into a trance how a detailing at a wash shop never did. There, the attendants fluttered and preened at him, tried to talk to him, asked him questions, ran sales by him, and praised him with over-the-top flattery that tasted as fake as their brittle cheer. This polishing felt entirely different. He'd been rubbed down under the impersonal hand of someone handling a fine, valuable piece of handcrafted furniture. It had been careful and appreciative, but any talking had been done over his head, not acknowledging him in the slightest.

Then he’d been arranged for display. More of that impersonal contact moved him around. He hadn’t been ignored, but the orders given him were said how a mech might use his hands when nudging a chair into the perfect position. Stand there. Bend your right arm this much. Turn your wrist. Spread your feet. Hold. 

He'd been reduced to a thing instead of a person. Already half-hypnotized , Blast Off had sunk beneath the spell completely. He couldn’t describe what it had felt like being left there to serve. He’d done nothing but stay perfectly still, but his internal systems had seemed to expand and contract in slow time with the steady rhythm of his ventilation systems. His outer plating never moved, but inside he had been in a meditative trance of service that he hadn’t known would take hold of him until he was far below thought, cradled in a dark, silken peace.

A hand sat firm on his shoulder, the grip tightening on and off with each call of his name. Nothing sexual or sensual accompanied it. Every once and a while, it would shake him as if to get his attention. Patient, the person speaking to him kept calling. A tinge of worry came through in the shift of the hand on him, but Blast Off wouldn’t notice that for a while yet.

He was in a headspace. He wasn’t ready to leave yet.

**[* * * * *]**

_” Bringing In Someone”_

**[* * * * *]**

“My carrier knows him,” Ravage said. “They work together, in a way. Usually I’m the one doing surveillance on the job after dark, and we ended up talking. He said a few things that made me think he’s interested.”

“But he only wants to watch tonight.” 

“So he says. Would you have a problem if he wants to do more? I don’t know for certain, but I have the feeling he leans into painplay territory.”

Blast Off’s head jerked back. “I don’t fly that route.”

“No no, I meant that he might want it himself. Receiving, not giving. He’s coming to watch **me** , after all.” Ravage preened. It had taken a lot of persuasion to coax Blast Off into bringing an audience in instead of going out to the club to give the Cassette his fix of attention. 

Blast Off still eyed him warily. “What **kind** of painplay?”

Ravage turned the purring, sleek sexiness up to 11 as he wove through the table and the shuttle’s legs alike. “For a first timer? **If** he asks to join in, you can probably just hit him with a piece of my harness or something to see if he even likes being struck by anything. You could order me to sharpen my claws on him, I suppose. Nothing too extreme, if he’s even interested in it. I don’t know if he will be.”

Blast Off gave him a doubtful look but grunted agreement. “Why doesn’t he just get a FetFacing account like us?”

“Because he met me.” Ravage turned another figure-eight around Blast Off’s feet. “Cybering it up's an option, but it takes time to meet people. He got lucky and found me first. Also…we’re discreet.” His tone warned that Blast Off better be. “You might recognize him, although as little as you’re on-planet, maybe not. Whatever happens tonight won’t get spread around, and that’s the only reason he’s confident enough to come at all. He’s in a sensitive position at the moment.” His reels worked in a pleased little sound for the idea. “Mrrr. This could be a good opportunity for you to play rougher than usual.”

“Depends on what he’s into.” Blast Off wasn’t going to mention his doubts about the mech being built sturdy enough to take rough handling. Just because Ravage’s size had been a shock didn’t mean that the Cassette’s acquaintances were of the same frametype.

Nonetheless, it was a pleasant surprise when the mech buzzed for entrance. The rented room suddenly felt a lot smaller holding a shuttle, a Cassette, and a -- hmm. Blast Off couldn’t place his frametype, but Ravage had been right. He did look vaguely familiar. Maybe Blast Off had seen him on a news broadcast at some point. The silver armor was quite distinctive. Pretty, too, for all the rugged form.

“Come in,” Ravage called, and Blast Off rose to greet their guest.

The mech looked up at him. “Blast Off, I presume.”

“You presume right,” the shuttle said, and his voice held the implication that nobody in the room should be presumptuous unless they wanted him to punish them. Plating sucked in tight, and the mech blinked, a little taken aback and just as much intrigued. Ravage sent a smug burst of static over short-wave. Blast Off ignored it. Interest didn’t mean inclination. A handsome shine didn’t mean Blast Off was considering a second bottom tonight, either. Not yet. 

They’d have to see how the night progressed.

**[* * * * *]**

_”Consent”_

**[* * * * *]**

The Combaticon entered the room and braced to attention. “Sir.”

That wasn’t what he’d been hoping for, but it’d been a distant hope. Realistically, he’d known it unlikely to begin with. The way the war had started, they’d gone their separate ways long before Onslaught recruited Blast Off. Ravage hadn’t realized who the mutineers in Kaon were until Soundwave had gotten the report on Shockwave’s final judgment.

Then Starscream had revived the shuttle. Things had veered wrong from the very start. Wrong led to exile led to revolt led to defeat led to reprogramming, and now Ravage looked up into a visor he couldn’t read. Cool, blank nothing gazed over his head. Blast Off stood at perfect attention, gaze trained straight ahead.

“It’s like that, then,” Ravage said softly.

Blast Off said nothing. What could he say? The loyalty program compelled him to obey Megatron’s will, not just the tyrant’s words. He had to be and do what Megatron wished him to be and do. Obedience to Ravage was knitted through that compulsion. The Cassette was one of their leader’s most trusted soldiers. Orders from him were as from Megatron.

What Ravage said, Blast Off had to do. What Ravage _wanted_ , Blast Off had to supply. 

The Cassette flattened his audio receptors. He’d hoped they could reach some sort of agreement, leave their respective ranks at the door, but it was a wishful fantasy. Honest play could never happen. He would never know if Blast Off was doing what he himself wanted, or what the loyalty program decided Ravage desired. Rank was a tricky enough obstacle to overcome, but the loyalty program made it impossible.

Ravage turned his back and took a moment to feel regret for what war took away from them both. 

“Dismissed,” he sighed.

Blast Off stiffened further, heels clicking together. “Sir, yes sir.” 

The Combaticon left him.

**[* * * * *]**

  
_”I keep a close watch on this heart of mine,_  
I keep my eyes wide open all the time,  
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds,  
Because you're mine, I walk the line.”  
-‘Walk the Line’ by Johnny Cash

**[* * * * *]**


End file.
